


Summer Hues

by needsmoreyellow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Rewrite, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2018-02-13 03:19:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2135097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/needsmoreyellow/pseuds/needsmoreyellow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>9x23 AU. Dean is definitely dead, definitely not a demon, and Cas re-enacts the Chamber of Secrets without meaning to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer Hues

**Author's Note:**

> Read/reblog on Tumblr [here](http://needsmoreyellow.tumblr.com/post/94712996306/9x23-au-dean-is-definitely-dead-definitely-not-a).

Without smell or sight, Castiel knows that Sam is drinking before he even arrives. He can see him without seeing him, alone in the dark with a glass of whiskey cradled in one of his massive hands, his body transforming without his awareness. Soon his hunched shoulders and shaking limbs will go stiff with determination, soon the numbness of his shock will vanish and the tears will return to his eyes.

Soon, he will summon Crowley.

Castiel should go to him. He should put a hand on his broad shoulder and draw him into an embrace with whispered promises about the safety of Dean’s soul and firm reminders of the inevitability of death.

As an angel, this should be his duty; as Sam’s _friend;_ as Castiel.

But right now he is all of those things and also none of those things. He _is_ Castiel, the angel with stolen grace, and he loves Sam Winchester.

But he is also Cas. Right now he is Cas, the angel with the stolen grace, who loves Sam Winchester and will never feel the warm embrace of Dean Winchester, again.

Right now he is Cas. Cas who doesn’t know what he is, doesn’t know who is or _why_ he is; why he was forced to be. He is Cas, slumped against the walls of the bunker that Sam Winchester calls home and that Dean Winchester does not and will not ever again.

He is Cas, and he cannot stop crying.

The nose of his vessel is clogged and dripping and running, his vision blurred with tears, his tongue heavy and overwhelmed with the taste of salt and mucus, but his ears remain clean.

Dean lies on the bed in front of him and Cas cannot hear his heartbeat because there is no heartbeat to be heard.

Sam cleaned him up as well as he could, but his face is still puffy and purple with scars and bruises; his clothes blood-stained. He should look peaceful, but he does not, and Cas hears himself make an awful, broken sound as he lowers himself down to sit on his bedside.

He has done this many times, before he even knew what amusement felt like. He’s watched Dean’s face in his slumber until he woke, jostled and cursing his Father’s name while Castiel stared on and waited patiently for him to wake up more fully.

He does not wake this time. Cas stares with the most sturdy, neutral face he can manage, as though that in itself will change the course of time and wake Dean up, but he remains as he is, and the room is silent.

_“Don’t ever change.”_ Dean had said to him, once. His soul had glowed gold and magenta hues, and Castiel had truly felt like Cas for the first time; had curled Dean in his wings and felt himself sing across the planes of existence.

He is changed, as humans change, and the world changes, and Dean isn’t here to tell him what he did wrong, how he can go back.

Dean isn’t here to laugh and sing and call him _buddy_ ; to ruffle his hair and leave an arm linger around his shoulders longer than he does on others. Dean isn’t here to tell him that he _needs him._

He needed him and he wasn’t there.

“I’m so sorry,” Cas says, but it comes out garbled and wet. He chokes on his own tongue and feels his throat squeeze up, and he’s grasping desperately at one of Dean’s cold hands. Dean is definitely not the one who is shaking. “I am _so_ sorry.”

Dean is not his body. Dean is a soul brighter than the sun, itself, and yet Cas has counted the freckles on his nose and seen the _love_ in his eyes so many times that it feels natural – _right_ – to curl over his corpse and press his shaky, wet lips to his forehead.

If possible, his shaking has intensified, and all of the words he wants to say, all of the things he wants Dean to know, die in his throat as he truly, fully breaks, brushing Dean’s hair back to comfort him and allowing their foreheads to press together.

And he cries, as a creature of his own making, and the soundproof walls catch his sobs, and his tears fall and drip to Dean’s cold face, sliding down his cheeks as though they are his own, and he feels so, so alone.

Sam is still sitting in the darkness. The world is so dark. Cas didn’t know it was possible to feel this much pain; doesn’t know why he wants to scream.

 “...Cas?”

Surely the grief has consumed him. Perhaps he, himself, died. Maybe the pain became too much for his body to handle and his grace finally faded away.

He leans back to make sure, but he’s right where he was and Dean is looking at him with open eyes that are beautiful and bloodshot, with a face that is free of scars.

Cas hears a heartbeat. He stares.

“Hey-“ Dean’s voice is thick with _death_ , his mind stuck in the past, and he’s staring right back. Alive.

“Dean.”

“Was I dead?”

“You were.” His voice shakes and his head spins and Dean feels like the sun beneath his fingertips; alive and warm and overwhelming for every one of his senses. There is no trace of _demon_ on him that would indicate a deal, and one prod with his still intact grace proves that Sam has yet to move. Dean simply Is. “All is well.”

He looks dubious and stunned for a moment, angry, eager to fire off as many questions as his parched throat will allow, but then- “Wait a second,  are you _crying?_ ”

Cas isn’t sure what to say. He wipes at his cheeks with one still-unsteady hand and Dean catches it with his own to examine the tears. “Holy shit-“

The bruises on Dean’s knuckles smooth away as though they were never there. There is no explanation that Cas can give.

“Oh.” He supplies, weakly. Dean gawks.

“Hold the fuck up. Is this some fairy in a bottle situation? Are you like the phoenix from Harry Potter? Because that would’ve been helpful _lots of other times_ -“ He’s angry and frustrated and confused and alive.

Cas falls into him. More tears fall from his eyes than he thought was possible. His arms fold around Dean with caution and gentleness, clinging to the back of his blood-stained shirt. His nose finds the pulse point on Dean’s neck and inhales, and when he breathes out it stutters. “ _Dean._ ”

“Jesus,” Dean curses, probably still in shock. In his shock, he wraps Cas up like he loves him and needs him. It has to be the shock. “It’s okay, I’m good.”

“ _Dean._ ” Cas repeats.

Dean laughs and the world sings around him for a few blessed moments. His warm fingers are rubbing up and down and up and down over Cas’ back. “You’re breaking my heart, buddy. And I don’t think it can survive another-”

“Dean.”

“Okay, okay, I get it.”

The world is still and silent in the best way. Sam has put the alcohol down without knowing why. Dean’s lips are in his hair and his chest is warm and he has so many questions but they can wait until time moves once more.

“Seriously, though? You okay?” Cas is being pulled away, Dean’s hands large and warm and rough on his cheeks, and he knows why he kisses him but he tells himself he doesn’t just in case.

“I’m okay” is what he wants to say when he pulls away, but he’s the one being kissed this time, over and over and _over._ Dean is free of scars and _marks_ and ailments of any kind and Cas sheds himself of _Castiel_ and allows himself to be Cas and to be _loved_ and to love, himself.

Dean glows golden.


End file.
